An Innocent Friendship
by A.Hand.Full.Of.Pearls
Summary: Series 2 spoilers...well, not really but still...another O'Brien drabble because I can't stand her being such a baddie! Paired with Mr Lang, the Valet because they just work so well! Please R&R, this might be a one shot but if you want more let me know!
1. Bad Beginnings

Miss O'Brien sat in the servant's hall. She felt tired, drained. Lost.

The room was quiet with nobody in there but her, everyone else was working. Her ladyship was sleeping. It wasn't as if O'Brien wasn't working, she had a pile of darning to do all in a messy heap in front of her.

She just sat and stared. Completely trapped in her own guiltily mind.

Only a week ago war had been announced.

But it wasn't even this that troubling her.

The baby.

How could she have been so cruel?

She fought the tears that threatened the spill, she couldn't bloody cry! O'Brien never cried! Damn this guilt!

A shuffling noise behind her made her stiffen and slowed her breathing. Someone was watching her. She didn't turn around; instead she moved her trembling hands away from the table top and curled them into her lap to hide the obvious shaking.

"I can see yer"

Her voice was harsh to her ears and made her wince inwardly.

Footsteps behind her, slow and uncertain.

Mr Lang sat down in the seat next to her. He didn't look at her or make any conversation but instead placed a humble cup of tea in front of her.

The silence surrounded them.

He reached across her and for a ludicrous moment she thought he was going to take her hand. He picked up a lace glove with a split seam and a needle and began to sew, such small stitches. She watched him, transfixed. He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with her observant gaze. She stared back at the table again, at the simple cup of tea. Such undeserved kindness.

She sniffed pathetically.

"Bad day?"

His voice was surprisingly soft and seemed genuinely concerned.

"Bad life" Her reply was brief and brutal. More to herself than to him anyway, he raised his eyebrows but didn't look up from the stitching.

They sat in stillness for a while longer.

"Drink your tea"

Sarah O'Brien gazed at the innocent cup and saucer and bit back the temptation the brush the cup roughly aside…it would only smash on the floor. Even the thought of the sound made Sarah shift uncomfortably. A breath hitched in her throat and she could feel terrible, guilt tears beginning to form at the corners of her eyes, she hastily blinked them away. It didn't work and she sniffed a little too loudly.

A strange heaviness suddenly rested on her arm. Was she having a stroke? She bleeding well deserved one.

Sarah shifted her stare to the right and found a hand rested upon her wrist, half way between balancing on the cuff of her dress and the pale skin of her hand. She looked up and caught his piercing gaze.

"I understand"

"No, yer don't"

She moved her hand away quickly, too quickly for he obviously hadn't anticipated she would pull away and his hand fell awkwardly into her lap, resting upon her skirts. She could fell the weight of it on her leg. Her hands shook and she stood up abruptly, moving away from the table so fast she knocked over the chair.

It clattered to the floor.

Daisy popped her head round the door to find the source of the noise and for some reason Sarah found herself fleeing the hall, out in the grounds.

She had felt so trapped.

The cool air was very welcome. It stung her lungs; she leaned against the wall and brushed her forehead with the back of her hand. It felt hot, clammy. Tears threatened to spill again and she pressed the flat of her palms against her eyes, as if the shut out the light.

"You forgot your tea"

"Jesus Christ!"

Sarah nearly fell over with fright. Lang stood, quiet patiently in the doorway, holding the white china cup and saucer. How much had he seen?

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you…"

"Yer didn't"

"I know" He nodded solemnly, holding the cup of tea out to her.

She took it from him and their hands brushed. A tingle of energy shot down her arm, how silly. How wonderfully silly.

Without knowing quite what processed her she smiled at him. A grateful smile.

He smiled back.

"Miss O'Brien?" Mrs Hughes voice called from the house, spoiling the moment of friendship, for that was all it had been. Well, Sarah would continue to tell herself that anyway.


	2. Comforting Nightmares

**WARNING**_…mild spoilers for series 2…but not really….O'Brien's gone back to being a baddie again anyway…I don't own anything but if I did, dear Mr Fellowes, O'Brien would be as I write her in my stories; ready for redemption and love. _

The weeks dragged slowly by and Sarah O'Brien found herself in the company for Mr Lang more and more, of course it was perfectly natural they had the same working hours; dressing the lord and lady of the house and keeping up with their needs and whims. The ladies maid and the valet, they sat side by side outside the servant's door, smoking in stillness.

His hands didn't tremble when he smoke, Sarah couldn't help but notice. He had such big hands, full fingers with lovely round palms. She shook her head mentally and realised she had been staring openly at his chest level.

She cleared her throat uncomfortably.

He simply smiled and motioned that he had finished his break. Sarah blinked as he got up stiffly and walked back into the house. How curious that she should feel so very lost without his presence next to her.

That night changed him.

Screaming suddenly erupted form the men's dormitory. Terrible, tormented screaming.

Within minutes the whole hallway was up and Mrs Hughes opened the doorway that prevented the men and women from meeting. Carson stood in the middle of the hall looking completely confused, both at the noise and the sight of Mrs Hughes in her nightgown.

Sarah tied a shawl around the shoulders of her nightdress and pulled the long, dark plait of hair that tumbled down her back over her shoulder as if its weight would comfort her. She was very aware she was barefoot; the stone floor was cold against her soles of her feet.

The screaming continued and Carson all but kicked down the door to Mr Lang's room.

He lay there, in the middle of the floor. Sobbing in anguish. Terrified out of his wits.

They all stood in the doorway together for a moment, Sarah was the first to collect herself and was at his side in an instance, pulling down his nightshirt for modest and winding her thin arms around his back to support him. His eyes were open but unseeing. He nearly lashed out at her but, looking into her pale and calm face, he stopped himself just in time. He seemed to wake up a little and his shouts quietened.

Sarah was very aware of the rest of the staff watching them.

"Off back ter bed then" Her tone was brisk and told them plainly she was not to be meddled with. They all departed very quickly. Well, that damn Mrs Hughes stood still in the doorway, eyebrows raised. Carson hovered nervously behind her.

Lang was hot to her touch, his nightshirt was sticky with the sweat of his nightmares and his breathing was heavy as if he had run a mile to escape his night terrors. She didn't mind. That surprised her. She rather liked his hands clutching round her wrists.

With difficulty, for he was considerably heavier than her, she helped him back into bed and pulled the covers over him.

Quite naturally she placed a cool hand against his forehead and brushed back the wet hair that had flopped there.

He moved into her touch.

Sarah felt her breath hitch and unexpectedly she felt unnervingly hot and flushed. Was the room smaller than before?

"Back to bed, O'Brien" Mrs Hughes voice was sharp, cutting the tension that had a risen in the small room. Sarah looked round annoyed and caught the Scottish woman's eye. Hate glinted in the candlelight between them.

"As yer please"

Sarah made to go but a hot hand caught hers, causing her to halt. Flames seemed to spend through her arm, the source of which was his fingers against her colourless skin. Sarah gulped. His eyes were tired and pleading.

"Stay. Please"

She open her mouth to shoot him down, to put him in his place but then he uttered the very words that were etched across her heart.

"I cannot bear to be alone."

Sarah nodded dumbly and sat down unthinkingly on the bed next to him, his large hand still held hers. She could feel his legs brushing against hers under the sheets.

Without turning Sarah spoke softly to Mrs Hughes "I'll sit with 'im fer a bit"

There was a pause in which Mrs Hughes seemed to be fighting an inward battle but then the door closed with a click and Sarah was left alone with the trembling Mr Lang.

"Thank you"

"Don't mention it." She attempted to smile at him but it came out more like a weak grimace. "No, really, don't say anything about this" Her words were sounding harsher than she had meant them too. But he seemed to take her meaning and squeezed her hand; she looked down at the clasped hands. It looked foreign, as if it wasn't meant for her.

"I do understand, you know" His gentle expression astonished her…wasn't she meant to be comforting him?

"Understand what?"

"You"

It was such a simple thing to say but the short statement took her breath away.

"How can yer say that?" Sarah words tumbled out her mouth like she had no control over them. She pulled the shawl tighter around her unconsciously, feeling the rough wool scratching against her skin.

"Your eyes are full of regret." He layed his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes shakily. "You must have done something terrible."

Inexplicably Sarah's eyes filled with tears. She attempted to brush them away with out letting go of his lovely, warm comforting hand. It was impossible.

"I'm so sorry" She spluttered through her tears.

He sat up and pulled her into his arms.

It was strange, the feeling the seeped through her. Simple and exquisite. His arms wrapped easily around her and she naturally fitted against his body. They were so close. He smelt of leather and boot polish, but then that was to be expected really, he was a servant. Sarah supposed she didn't smell much better, of stuffy lace and dust probably. She could feel his hand on her back; his fingers were spread wide as if trying to hold all of her at once.

Footsteps outside of the door.

They sprang apart as quickly as they'd fallen into each others arms. Sarah sniffed and attempted to compose herself.

The door swung open.

"Back to bed Miss O'Brien"

Sarah scowled at Mrs Hughes.

She walked out of the room slowly, suddenly very aware that she was wearing only a nightgown. At the door she turned and waved ruefully like a small child. It ridiculously thrilled her that he waved back. Sarah settled back down into her own bed. She felt unexpectedly cold. The memory of his skin against hers seemed to imprint itself on to her mind; she curled up underneath the covers in a daze.

O'Brien fell asleep smiling.


	3. Glowing Darkness

Sarah didn't see Mr Lang at all over the next few days, it wasn't as if they were purposely avoiding each other…they just never seemed to be free at the same moments.

Time dripped slowly by and as it passed Sarah could feel the burden of her guilt gradually building up inside of her again. Somehow the embrace Lang had given her had lessened the burden but now it seemed to manifest itself inside of her, burning a hole in her heart.

She sat on the edge of her bed tentatively. Night time again.

Alone, again.

It seemed more obvious now. How had she never noticed it before? Of course she had never really had friends, she counted Thomas as a companion but it wasn't really the same thing. She blinked at the ludicrousness of it all…she was actually considering Mr Lang as a friend.

Sighing Sarah lay back on to the comfortably small bed and drew the sheets up to her chin. For a few moments she stared at the ceiling. The candle flickered hopelessly on the bedside table. How funny to think that he was only just along the corridor.

The next morning things changed.

Thomas was back.

He grinned at Sarah when he saw her striding across the kitchen towards him. Sarah looked him up and down, he was as ever; unchanged.

"Home on leave?" She enquired, looking nonchalant and accepting the humble cup of tea Mr Lang had slipped into her hand as she passed him without a second thought. Thomas raised an enquiring eyebrow but didn't question her actions; she seemed to have done it without even realising.

They stood outside, smoking endlessly, that lunchtime.

They easily fell into old conversations, bitching and smirking about Downton and its inhabitants…it was only when he mocked Lang that Sarah stiffened, her face losing its laughter. Suddenly all the enjoyment had gone from their game, she took a slow drag of the cigarette and didn't meet his eyes.

Thomas smirked.

Unfortunately that was the moment Lang came out of the house looking for O'Brien.

"Do you have spare needle? His lordships blue silk waistcoat has a tear at the seam"

Thomas snorted and rolled his eyes at Sarah who looked uncomfortably at the floor.

"Something funny, sir?" Mr Lang's voice was unchallenging and calm.

Sarah put her hand out and placed it on Mr Lang's arm, a perfectly natural thing to do but a horrible mistake in this situation. Thomas laughter died and his eyes glinted with malice.

"Forgot who yer are so soon, O'Brien?"

His words were sharp and cut her when he had most intended. She glared at him. Her hand was still clasped around Lang's arm; she seemed to be drawing comfort from his. His very presence was a blessing. Normally she would have retorted with some snide remark but she didn't, not this time. Instead she turn her back on Thomas and strode purposely back into the house knowing Lang was trotting obediently behind her.

Thomas didn't stay very long after that.

The night time drew in and the darkness surrounded the house. Stars didn't twinkle tonight, too cloudy. Miserable, like Sarah's mood.

She sat looking her into her mirror and slowly, without any enthusiasm began to unpin her long dark hair from its severe bun. The curl fell down, one by one and she grimaced at her reflection. The moonlight cast a bright shadow on the wall above her mirror and she turned at looked out of her small window, lost in her own thoughts.

For a long time she simply stared into space, searching the heavens for some answer to her troubled mind but nothing came. Gradually it grew colder in her room and she shivered, unexpectedly aware of how later the hour was. Her nightgown was firm and cool against her skin, causing her to tremble.

A knock at her door startled her.

Sarah rolled her eyes. It was probably just Daisy asking for a spare candle or Mrs Hughes coming to berate her for the lateness of the hours she was keeping.

It wasn't.

Instead Mr Lang stood there, all forlorn in his nightshirt and dressing gown. His feet were bare and he carried a glowing candle that lit up his tired face. Without think she stepped aside and ushered him into her bedroom.

He turned in the centre of the room and whispered "Sorry, I couldn't sleep… I thought you might be awake as well…"

Sarah shut the door quickly and lent against the rough wood, leaning back into the reality that was her outdoor coat that hung from the peg. The whole situation was surreal, was he an apparition? Should she expect two more spirits of Christmas before the cloak struck 12?

Eventually she found her voice, it came out gruffly and without sympathy "How did you get here?" For Sarah knew Hughes kept the door locked.

"I went all the way around"

"Why?" Sarah breathed, already the answer was sinking into her cold skin. For you, Sarah, he came to see you because he was lonely. She bit her lip, at a complete loss as to what to say.

"I thought you might want to talk?" As ever his voice was polite and restrained.

Sarah shook her head decisively. "I don't want ter talk"

"Me neither" He smiled weakly and moved towards the door to leave. Only Sarah was still leaning on it and for some reason her feet had become glued to the floor, rooting her to the spot. He was close, too close. He stopped less than a few moments from her, if he had reach out he could have touched her.

Sarah pressed her back against the door to steady herself. Her breathing had gone all funny and she was having trouble focusing. The room seemed dark and mysterious and the only light appeared to come from him; the glow his little candle was emitting drew her gaze and she found herself staring into his chest. He reach his free hand out to the door handle, inches from her hip. For a second she thought he might have touched her but he didn't.

"Sorry" His apology was mumbled and his steady gaze locked on to hers and she found his eyes to be wonderfully clear and blue. She licked her lips self-consciously and his looked down at them.

"Yer not going ter take advantage of me Mr Lang?" What she had meant at a joke came out much quieter than she had meant it too and sounded almost like a plea. She raised her chin and stared him full in the face. He looked nervous but confident of her. Like he could see though her bravado.

Tentatively he lent forwards and kissed her, not on the lips, but on her soft cheek.

Sarah closed her eyes at the human contact and sighed, bringing her hand up to his shoulder. He pulled away slightly and she stared back at him, lost for words and completely vulnerable.

"Goodnight" He made to leave but Sarah just couldn't let him go. Her heart seemed to be bursting with emotion.

As he bent around her to pull the door open she leaned in and caught his lips. For a moment they just stood awkwardly but then his hand came away from the door handle and grasped her waist, pulling him roughly against her. Sarah threw caution to the wind and threw her arms about his neck and felt him return the kiss. Lips closed, as the law of respectability decreed but decency be damned, was one of the last thought Sarah had before she succumbed to his wonderful, simple kiss.


	4. Excessive Affection

_Authors Note: Sorry for the delay in posting...somehing must have been wrong with the fanfic site last night as it wouldn't let me write! I know this chapter is slightly out of character, jumping between nice and nasty, but bear with me! She's just as bad in the TV series! Thank you for all the lovely reviews Xxx_

The next morning Sarah woke in her bed disorientated. Slowly she looked round her little room, it looked as it always had - tidy and impersonal. There was no obvious sign that there had been a man, bleeding hell she was losing it, a real man kissing her last night.

It had been brief and needy.

No naughtiness had technically gone on, for gods sakes they hadn't even gone never the bed! But he had clutched her intimately against him, his hands on her waist, on her back, on the crook of her hips...all she had been wearing was her cotton nightgown. And not a very flattering one at that! She put her hand up to her chest to steady her heart beat, feeling the tightness of the stiff collar against her pale neck.

Her hair was messy.

She hadn't bothered to plait it. He had run his hands though her hair, curling the dark tangles around his fingers as he kissed her.

Sarah would have blushed at the memory, if she could have done.

She got dressed slowly.

The day was set to be a long one; Matthew Crawley was home on leave for the coming weekend and that meant endless hours choosing the rights gowns to war and frayed tempers from Lady Mary. Sarah frowned into her mirror. As much as she hated the snobbish young girls she owed Lady Grantham everything. Her soul was a small price to pay for what she had done but her heart…well, her heart was free to give away to whom she wanted, wasn't it?

No.

The realisation hit her with surprising force.

What was she doing? Dreaming of some happy future with a man she barely knew? It wasn't love; it was longed for closeness, a friend. Her heart had turned to stone long ago as Thomas had taken great please in reminding her before he had left to go back to the front.

Her heart felt heavy inside her ribcage and at once she was back in the bathroom with Lady Grantham, blood seeping across the floor. Bile rose in her constricted throat and she forced it back down, no time to dwell. Another luxury she could never afford.

Sarah didn't see Mr Lang till gone lunchtime.

He sat outside on a pile of upturned crates smoking in solitude. He looked tranquil yet closed off to the world. His hands didn't quiver when he lifted the cigarette to his lips. Lovely smooth lips…Stop it, Sarah, you're being ridiculous...but still she stared at him from the kitchen door, transfixed.

He looked up and saw her.

A shy grin spread softly across his features and he raised a hand in greeting. Sarah waved back, a small smile playing on her lips, her morning of doubt completely forgotten.

She walked over to him and lent against the wall next to the crates.

He offered her his half smoked fag and she took it unthinkingly, slowly inhaling the comforting smoke.

Mr Lang studied her, she could feel his eyes upon her but instead she stared out on to the grounds of Downton and sighed.

His hand slipped into hers.

His skin was rougher to touch that she would have thought. Their fingers intertwined unconsciously. His hand trembled slightly in hers, she gripped it lightly and relished the contact of bare flesh against hers.

"Thank you" his smooth voice broke the silence.

"Yer welcome" Her voice was low in tone, shy yet seductive.

Damn it! Why did she want him so badly? He was broken, a shell of a man.

The crumble of gravel told her he had stood up next to her.

His hand left hers and trailed lightly up her arm, smoothing the black cotton of her maids dress and came to rest upon the curve of her neck. Sarah leaned her head back to meet his touch. Still she stared determinedly at the grounds, unable to meet his curious gaze.

"You're lovely, you know"

Sarah snorted and swatted him with the hand that so recently had clasped hers. She could feel his firm fingers against the collar of her dress, tracing patterns against her cool skin.

"Don't be daft...that's not the word I would use"

"Oh?" His tone was polite, enquiring. As if she had asked for more milk in her tea instead of openly letting him touch her so boldly. "What word would you use?"

"Damned"

Sarah jumped away from him and pressed a hand over her mouth in shock at the terrible word that had tumbled from her lips. It was as good as a confession but if he knew what he didn't let on. Instead Lang took her hand again with both of his and began to trace circles on the warm skin.

The action was soothing.

Sarah blinked at the openness of it.

"When your ready, you'll tell me."

Lang's voice was quiet but confident.

Sarah cleared her throat in an attempt of break the tension that had arisen between them. The circles he was drawing were getting smaller, faster and it made her heart beat painfully against her corset. Although the air was cold she found her cheeks flushing and made to move away. His hands held hers firmly.

"Yer can come ter me room again tonight..." Sarah trailed off pathetically, totally overawed at the boldness of her own words. "...If yer want"

He smiled shakily and loosened his grip on her hand. Opening his mouth to reply he lent forwards, Sarah stared at him, completely lost for words.

"Miss O'Brien? Mr Lang? Don't you both have some work to be getting on with?" Mrs Hughes ice cold voice cut through the tension like a hot knife in soft butter.

They sprang apart like naughty children and Sarah attempted to glare at Hughes. It didn't really work, instead of looking angry, as her sharp voice had suggested, Mrs Hughes looked mildly amused.

Lang looked swiftly at Sarah and gave her a lovely little shy nod before disappearing into the house. Sarah attempted to follow him but at the door Elsie Hughes stopped her.

"Really, Miss O'Brien! I expect this sort of thing from Daisy but honestly!"

"I don't know what yer mean..." Sarah struggled to stop herself from smirking as she pushed past into the house.

Mrs Hughes could go to Hell and back for all Sarah O'Brien cared. Lang, however, was allowed no where near hell...Sarah would make sure of that.


	5. Unbearable Wanting

The night drew in slowly, almost painfully. Lady Grantham seemed to take inexplicable amounts of time to change from her evening gown into her night clothes. Sarah stood, patiently, unpinning her ladyship's hair. Her hands moved mechanically and she stared unthinking into the mirror on the dressing table. Her reflection was harsh, a face worn with bitter time. Her ladyships face glowed with life and comfort. Such a difference in looks, such a difference in lives.

Sarah could not bring herself to resent Lady Grantham. She felt the burden of guilt terribly but for now she could bear it.

The darkness folded Downton Abbey in a welcome embrace.

Sarah sat nervously on her bed.

She had unnecessarily rearranged her bed covers 3 times now. Her patchwork throw lay perfectly smooth across the foot of her bed. Sarah ran her hand over the fabrics, smiling at the simple beauty that scraps of material could create. She had made the throw herself to practice her stitching. It was her proudest possession.

Her hair lay down her back in a dark, thick plait. It contrasted starkly with the white cotton of her nightgown. Her legs were bare and she flexed her feet against the floor, letting the rough wood brush against her unprotected soles. How long would he wait to come? There was no sound outside in the corridor.

Sarah hated waiting.

She huffed in annoyance and stood up, taking an old grey shawl off the back of her bed post and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Opening her door tentatively she peered out in to the hallway. It was silent and deserted. There were no lights shining under any of the others doors. Sarah breathed a sigh of relief and padded down the hall and tiptoed down the stairs. She was not really sure at what point it struck her that she was being ridiculous but she brushed the feeling aside.

The servant's kitchen was cold and dark. Sarah knew it well enough by now to manoeuvre herself around the chairs and nearly made it to the men's staircase when a soft Scottish voice cut through the silence.

"Going somewhere, O'Brien?"

A match was struck and illuminated Mrs Hughes face. She sat in the chair at the head of the servants table quite calmly, a pot of tea and cup half full sat on the wooden table in front of her. Mrs Hughes lit a candle with an air of relaxation and turned to stare at O'Brien. She was an old pro at guarding the divide between the sleeping quarters.

"I'm, I..." Sarah felt her mouth grow dry with embarrassment and hated the housekeeper at that moment more than ever. She wasn't some silly little house maid, she was a grown woman! "I'm going out fer a fag"

Mrs Hughes grinned openly at Sarah's weak retort and sat back comfortably in the chair.

"At this time of night?" A look of glee flashed across Hughes face "If you must then do so by all means"

Sarah bit her lip in anger and marched out of the kitchen door and on to the grounds of Downton. The night air was so cold it took her breath away. A hazy mist drifted across the grass and the trees stood out against the grey night sky, like huge black spiders webs.

The sky stood vastly above her, heavy with stars. Sarah blinked at the enormity of it. It was overwhelming. Never in her life had Sarah felt more alone or insignificant than she did at that moment. Downton Abbey loomed up behind her in the dark, impossibly big and imposing. Sarah let out the breath she had been unconsciously holding and watched as it came out as a puff of steam, warm against the freezing air around her.

She had no cigarettes on her and so simply stood, breathing heavily, looking out at the judging nights sky.

There was noise from the kitchens behind her but she didn't turn. Probably just Mrs Hughes coming the check Sarah hadn't done a runner. As if she would, well, at least not in her nightdress!

There was a dull thump from with the house followed swiftly was a small, sorry "Ow" and Mrs Hughes voice rang out, torn between amusement and anger. "For Gods sakes! Go to bed Mr Lang! If you hadn't been sneaking around the kitchens at midnight, you wouldn't have fallen over that chair now, would you?"

Sarah turned back to the kitchen door and peaked, childlike around it.

Mrs Hughes stood over poor Mr Lang with the air of one who had won the battle.

She looked up as Sarah came in, shivering from the cold.

At the look on O'Brien's face Mrs Hughes stopped and put her head on one side like a puzzled puppy. O'Brien didn't look scheming or villainous; instead she looked nervous and unsure. Well, this was new. Maybe Charles had been right after all, Mr Lang was a good influence on O'Brien. Best leave them to...well...to it.

"There's tea in the pot" Elsie Hughes shook her head wearily and, having decided that O'Brien was not about to lead Mr Lang astray, made her way up to bed. Sarah stood rooted to the spot, completely taken aback by the unexpected turn of events.

Lang stood up painfully and smoothed down his nightshirt. He would have looked comical if Sarah hadn't just been so wrong footed by Mrs Hughes.

He at down at the table and poured the tea into the empty cup and saucer and pushed it along to the vacant space next to him, he did the same for himself and motioned for Sarah to sit down. She did so, slowly, so very unsure of herself. Mrs Hughes had left the candle at the table; it flickered as the icy breeze drifted through the open kitchen door. Sarah shivered again but made no attempt to close it. Now that she sat so close to Lang she could bring herself to move away from him again so soon.

What was the reason for Mrs Hughes sudden trust?

Sarah forgot all of her questioning when she felt Mr Lang's hand brush her arm and lift it up, guiding her hand towards the cup of tea. She let him.

They drank the warm sweet liquid in silence.

Sarah placed her empty cup down in it's matching china saucer with slightly took much force and it make a horribly clashing noise as china scraped china. She winced and turned to look at Lang. He stared off into the middle distance, lost in his own little world. His hands trembled as he lifted his now empty cup to his lips again. Sarah put her hand out to stop him.

He snapped out of his trance and jumped to look at her, catching her wrist with a hard, vice like, grip as he did, his eyes bright with fear. His tea cup fell to the table with a clatter. It didn't break.

"It's me…its Sarah"

Surprisingly she wasn't afraid of him. His face fell back into its normal composed expression and he gently released her wrist, stroking the skin on her palm as he did so. The lines he drew with his long fingers burned her skin and sent little shocks up her arms. Sarah bit her lip and caught the ends of his fingers with hers, pulling him back towards her.

They stopped inches from each others lips.

The candle spluttered, castling long shadows across the table and their silhouettes upon the wall behind them. The woman had her lips parted, breathless. The shadow of the man raised his arm hesitantly and cupped the cheek of the woman, brushing the soft skin with his thumb.

Sarah let of a contented sign and in reply Lang bent further towards her, closing the space between them.

Their lips met more hesitantly than before. It had been passionate and hurried then but now it was unhurried and measured. Purposeful almost.

Sarah felt completely overwhelmed by the mixed emotions that were taking hold of her. On one hand there was unbridle joy that this shy, lovely man was returning her needy kiss but on the other hand the need to confess her guilty secret was bursting out of her, threatening to take over.

Her hand hovered between them, seeking a support and accidentally landed on his leg. Sarah murmured an apology and made to move it away to a more respectable position. His hand stopped her, very resolutely, he held her hand there, just above his knee and stroked her long fingers.

After what seemed like forever they broke apart, breathless.

The candle had gone out.

They sat consumed by darkness.

Taking courage from the warmth that spread through her from the hand that lay immodestly upon his leg Sarah whispered into the night.

"I'm ready ter talk"

Lang squeezed her hand in reply and she felt him bend in. He gently kissed her forehead and moved his chair closer to her so that she was practically leaning against him. She could feel his slow heartbeat through the thin material of their nightgowns, she was very aware that he could doubtlessly feel every curve of her body against his but she didn't care. His strong arms held her comfortingly. He whispered back, his breath warming her cold ear.

"I'm listening"


	6. Dangerous Shadows

Sarah could feel the steady rhythm of Mr Langs heart against her side. It was impossibly calming against hers, which seemed to be literally jumping out of her chest. She took a deep shuddering breath and stared into the darkness. Somehow it was easier to talk when she couldn't see anything.

"It weren't a mistake…I mean, it was but...I…Oh, I don't know…" She shook with exasperation at her own weakness. His arm tightened around her shoulders and the weight was heavy and comforting. "I thought her Ladyship was goin' ter replace me, she kept talking and going on an' on about a new maid and it made me so angry…all these years in service, for what?... She was in the bath and dropped the soap over the side and I said I'd pick it up, but I didn't…I left it. I wanted her to slip, to hurt 'erself but then…" Sarah stopped. What had she wanted to happen? Her mind was so confused. Her voice trembled with every word and she couldn't believe the guilt confession was, at last, pouring out of her lips.

Lang brought his hand up to her face in the dark and for a moment she thought he was going to strike her but he didn't. Instead his hand lightly stroked the side of her face, from her cheek to her chin. The action was unremarkable yet tender. So intimate.

"Your crying" His voice was low, close to her ear.

Sarah sniffed. She hadn't even noticed the tears that were leaking uncontrollably from her tired eyes. Steeling herself for the worst she carried on.

"Lady Grantham was goin' ter have a baby, yer see, the heir to Downton…I just couldn't bear it; she had everything she had ever dreamed of and I had…nothing." Sarah spoke faster and faster, desperate as the horrible guilt began to tear her heart to shreds inside her nightgown. "I was so ready for her to fall but then…I just didn't want to do it anymore. None of it. No more dressin' and undressin' and waiting and waiting and waiting…when she fell I was out of the room, getting a towel. It just seem to snap in my head that it was wrong, that I was wrong…I called out. I told her to stop, to stay in the bath. But she didn't listen, she never listens…She screamed…there was so much blood. It was bright red and sticky. I nearly slipped in it. Her ladyship clung ter me…she…she…"

Sarah trailed off brokenly, sobbing hopelessly.

Surprisingly Mr Lang had not pushed her away in disgust. His fingers had moved from her face now and gently brushed against her hands, which were clutched in her lap. He traced the harsh lines of her clutched knuckles.

Sarah gulped. The silence descended over them.

Slowly Sarah unclasped her hands and placed them around his cold hand.

"She thanked me."

"Oh?" His tone was composed, unreadable.

"Afterwards…she thanked me"

"In the trenches I killed man."

"That's not so uncommon, we are at war…" Sarah sniffed pitifully, the burden on her chest seemed to have loosen, if only slightly. Why was he telling her this?

"He was on our side."

In the darkness Sarah raised her head and looked into the outline of his. They were both shadows in the dark, demons seeking repentance.

"You cannot ever imagine it. Those trenches are hell on earth. Every day the noise, the noise got louder. I thought I would never stop. There was this young lad, so young, he lost it…completely. We caught him when he tried to run away. The commanding officer handed me a gun and told me to shoot him, to show others what we were fighting for. He sobbed and the men beat him. He called for his mother. I looked right into that poor lads eyes and had no mercy, no pity. I…I called him 'coward' then I pulled the trigger…"

Mr Lang trailed off. His voice so loud now Sarah was surprised half the house hadn't woken up and come down to see what the shouting was about. His grip on her hands was strong and his nails dug almost painfully into hers. His eyes glinted in the moonlight and she could see fear in them. This was the enemy he fought each night.

They sat there for a long time, leaning against each other.

Sarah could feel her breathing shallow in her chest and struggled to shiver against cool breeze coming from the open doorway. Lang lent his head on top of hers and she found herself nuzzling into the crook between his shoulder and head, he smelt good, warm and clean. Steadily their arms wrapped around one another, pulling each other closer in. It felt safe in his arms. Strange but safe.

"You don't hate me?"

Sarah's voice broke the gloom. The house creaked slightly around them. She held him tighter.

"No." He paused, as if considering his words "I could never hate you"

Her hand, which had been buried around his waist, found its way up to his chest and she laid it next to her head, he tighten his arms around her in response and she felt his lightly kiss the top of her head. The action was so simple. It made her want to cry.

Little by little she lifted her head up to his and could just make out the shadowy outline of his neat hair and faint face against the darkness. His countenance was downcast and she could feel the wetness of his cheeks, he too had shed a tear at his guilt. They sat there bound together by their pasts and regrets. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers. It felt lovely. It was completely wrong of course but damn modesty! They were both too old to care about reputations; no one seemed to like them anyway. Sarah traced the collar of his nightshirt with the palm of her hand almost thoughtlessly, one of his buttons hand come undone, she could feel the raise of material in the darkness. Her hand brushed against his bare skin, she could feel his heartbeat. He did not jump at her touch.

Lang pressed his lips against her forehead.

She leaned into his touch, desperate for the comfort his un-judging mind was willing offering her.

Hesitantly she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him to her lips. His strong arms tightened around her back and held her safe and sound.

They broke apart and both shivered with the cold. A nervous giggle, so out of place, escaped Sarah's lips at the ridiculousness of the situation. At the sound of her voice Lang hugged her tighter to him, as if trying to find a way to get closer than was physically possible. He pressed his lips to her cold cheek and she let out a sigh.

"You should tell her"

His voice broke the dream. Sarah couldn't help but to tense up against his loving touch.

"Tell who?" There was danger in her tone, fear and danger.

"Lady Grantham. She has to know."


	7. Concealed Passion

"Yer jokin'…" Sarah brought her face away from his sharply and moved her hands stiffly to her sides.

"No"

"I...I...I thought..." Sarah spluttered angrily. The harsh emotion swept over her and she struggled to keep her temper. "Yer said yer understood...I thought..."

His arms were still wrapped around her waist tightly, before that had felt so good, so comforting but now. Now they felt restricting. Horrible.

"Sarah?"

She felt her hands shake with anger as she pushed herself forcefully for the warmth of his chest. The perfectly naturally usage of her first name pinged in her head as wrong and hate flared in her head.

"HOW DARE YER?"

The volume of her own voice took her completely by surprise and she roughly pulled herself away from him, nearly knocking over the chair over behind her.

The house was silent around her eruption.

Mr Lang made no movement. His shadowy figure sat still on the chair, regarding her. There was no judgement in his countenance, he simply raise his eyes to meet hers as they flashed in the moonlight.

"Sorry"

"Bit late fer that"

Sarah could help the sarcasm that dripped from her tone. Her chest felt tight, restricted yet her nightgown swayed loosely in the cool breeze. Hurt flashed in his eyes and immediately regret filled her heart. She bit her lip and felt her arms shook pitifully by her sides.

She took a deep breath, letting the ice cold night air fill her lungs. It stung painfully.

"I thought yer understood."

"I do"

"I can never tell her. I can't tell anyone...no one must know do yer understand?" She moved to stand over him, in a weak attempt to threaten him. It didn't really work, their knees bumped and he raised his hands to steady her; holding her waist. She hated herself for the tingles that shot through her and landed in the base of her stomach.

"I'm sorry" His voice was low and calm, it infuriated her.

She angrily brushed her trembling hands against his cold ones that clutched her so tenderly. His grip was firm and warm. He didn't let go.

"Will yer stop it! Tell me, would yer tell that poor lads mother yer shot 'im? If yer could? Would yer?"

The last words left her mouth with a shout and her eyes burned with terrible un-spilt tears.

Abruptly Lang stood up and seemed to loom over her, his presence was so dominating it took her breath away. His cold hands roughly scraped away from her waist and grabbed her thin wrists tightly, too tightly. It hurt. He pressed the skin hard, nails digging in. His face was close to hers and she could feel his laboured breathing against her cheeks.

"Yer hurting me…"

Sarah looked up into his eyes, desperately trying not to meet them. It was impossible. They were darting here and there, fear flickered upon his face and she felt a wave of guilt for making him relive the worst moment of his life over again. She tried to move his hands from her wrists but he held her firmly.

"Please…"

She pushed her body against his in a desperate attempt to make him snap out of the terrible trance. Her hands were pinned uselessly in front of her so she pushed herself against him, bumping her head against his chest and turning her face away from his so he would see the tears that were falling unhindered from her eyes. His hands released hers and he let them fall loosely to his sides. They stood like that for several minutes, her head buried in the safety of his chest but with no arms supporting each other, no kiss, just bare, raw comfort. Steadily Sarah felt her breath slow down and closed her eyes. She made no attempt to stem the flow of tears that leaked down her face. Her hands were clutched to her heart as if she were afraid it would fall out of her chest all together if she let go.

The room seemed to grow lighter around them. Sarah could now almost clearly see Lang's bare feet upon the stone floor. Dawn was breaking over the grounds. She raised her head a little and found him staring down at her sadly.

"Sorry" She breathed in barely a whisper.

In reply he bent down and placed his lips against her forehead. It wasn't a kiss, but more the contact of skin to skin, transferring energy, giving comfort.

Without words her slipped his hand into hers and led her outside.

The grass glowed with morning dew; it shimmered in the faint pink glow of the early morning light. The sun had barely begun to rise; only the top of its head peaked over the horizon. The trees stood as harsh black lines against the oncoming illumination. Sarah's feet were bare; she could feel the moisture of the ground seeping into her skin and tainting the edges of her nightgown. His hand trembled slightly in hers and turned into him, placing her other hand on his arm as well, as if guiding him into this new dawn. His face was shining with tears. Slowly, with trepidation, she lent her head against his shoulder.

For a moment there was no movement.

Only the simple call of birdsong from the awakening sky.

The he pulled her into his arms.

It felt so wonderful.

They walked back to the house in silence, hands still clasped.

At the kitchen table Lang stopped and bent down clumsily to kiss her. His lips met hers for a split second and then they were gone.

In a daze Sarah walked up to her room. The corridors were light now and she almost blushed at her state of undress.

At her door she paused and yawned.

It was going to be a long day.

But the lingering memory of his hands gripping her wrist so violently, so passionately seemed to rattle round her head. It was like someone had lit a fire in her heart, and now all she could think of was being as close to him as possible. She didn't care if he hurt her.

She just wanted him.

She needed him.

She would have him.


	8. Revealing Damages

The day passed her by she was that tired. Every time she had a moment to herself to think she felt her eyes grow heavy and sleep threatened to overwhelm her.

It was a day like any other yet it altered life once again.

Sarah sat at the kitchen table, as per usual, darning a hole in one her ladyships many petticoats. She move almost mechanically, every stitch the same as the last, neat and easy.

She felt the chair to her right pulled away from the table and was unsurprised when Lang sat himself down next to her. He didn't look tired, only a little lost. His hand lay on the table next to her.

Without thought Sarah placed her palm over the soft skin of the back of his hand.

He slowly lowered his gaze to their hands and there eyes met. A small, secretive smile played upon his lips. She smiled back, almost lowering her eyes with a blush.

"Miss O'Brien? Carson wants you, I think...oh!"

They both turned around startled and moved apart instinctively.

Daisy stared at them both, wide eyed in shock. Her mouth hung open and she stumbled back, terrified at O'Brien's unkind gaze.

Sarah stood up and stepped towards the cowering girl.

At once Daisy began gabbling "I won't tell anyone, I promise..."

"Ye'll keep yer trap shut!" Sarah's voice was hard and cold. She towered over the young girl, hands stretched out as if to shake her, to make her see sense. "Yer saw nothin'..." She trailed off. The look in Daisy face had changed, had crumbled from fear to confusion. If Sarah hadn't been so angry she would have taken the expression for pity. She followed the line of Daisy's gaze. It was aimed at her hands. No, her wrists.

Her out stretched arms had forced her sleeves to rise and her normally covered wrists were bare.

Dark purple uneven bruises were littered around both wrists. Horribly black against her pale skin.

She looked back at Lang who stared at her in horror. He stepped forward but was stopped by a shrill cry, Daisy ran from the room. Her feet beat thuds of the floor that ripped at Sarah's heart.

Lang trembled with shock beside her and Sarah turned breathlessly to stand a little closer to him. She paused, her mind was trained in scheming and she could already see where this was going and didn't like it one bit.

Grimly she marched out of the kitchen, leaving her sewing abandoned on the table.

Lang followed her silently.

Last time they had stood outside on the grounds they had felt so together. So right.

Now they stood awkwardly, unsure how even how to stand next to each other.

"I'm so sorry" Mr Langs voice trembled and broken as he half turned to her and held his hands to her uselessly.

"It's nothin'…I didn't even notice it."

Their fingers brushed lightly but this time their hands wouldn't clasp. Sarah sprawled her fingers against the cool breeze and shakily lit a cigarette. As she lifted her hand up, Lang gasped heart breakingly and unexpectedly strode away, shoulders shaking.

For a second Sarah desperately wanted to call him back. To comfort him, to tell him it wasn't him that had caused her harm. But it was. Brusquely she pulled her tight cuffs down as far as they would go and held them firmly in place with her shaking hands, blowing smoke out onto the innocent air in anger.

That night she fell asleep quickly and with no fussy. No sitting aimlessly and watching the silly stars, just a quick plait of her dark hair and then sleep. Sarah dreamed terrible things; blood splattered floors, sobbing, screaming, hands crushing hers. It hurt, so much.

She sat up, drenched in sweat. Her chest seemed so constricted and breathing was difficult. There was a screaming coming from down the corridor. Mans voices raised in anger.

Swiftly Sarah tumbled from her bad, as she was all caught up in the sheets, and ran to her door. The wooden floor was cool against her hot skin and the chilly night air stung her lungs as she wrenched her door open. She was at the door that separated her from the men before Mrs Hughes and in a mad desperation, banged on it with her fist. Behind she could feel Daisy's quiet watchful gaze upon her arms, quickly she pulled her nightgown down and hand her hands against her chest. She stepped aside for Hughes and swallowed the lump that had risen in her throat.

The door unlocked with a click and Sarah all but pushed Mrs Hughes out of her way as she stumbled down the corridor. Lang's door was open and Branson was holding him down whilst Carson hovered ineffectively. Lang looked petrified out of his wits. Sarah felt horribly responsible. He fought with the men senselessly and cried out in anguish.

"Please stop!" Sarah own shrill voice surprised even her and she was at his side in a moment. Pushing Branson away she cradled his head and stroked his flailing arms. He quietened almost immediately. In all the fuss the sleeves of her nightshirt and risen and her wrists were completely on display.

Mr Lang nuzzled against her waist, still asleep, as he had been the whole time, and she felt his breathing slow and his hot arms tighten around her.

Ashen face, Sarah looked up and saw Mrs Hughes and Carson watching her, judgement glinting in their eyes. Carson was staring at Lang in horror; Sarah felt her heart skip a beat. Would they send him away? Mrs Hughes looked directly at her wrists, face grim and arms folded against her nightgown and shawl. She caught Sarah's eyes and opened her mouth to speak.

Lang's whimper interrupted her "Sarah…please…" She wasn't sure if it was a plea to stay or go but she hushed him quietly in reply and felt his hands reach from hers.

Understanding flickered across both her superiors' faces and Sarah felt a wave of dread wash over her.

This was not what she wanted.

Not them.

Not this place.

Just him.

His eyes flickered open and tears welled up in hers. Slowly she stroked his cheek soothingly, uncaring who was watching them anymore.

If he was to be fired, why then so was she.


	9. Lonely Escape

Sarah walked with reluctance to breakfast the next morning, her feet felt heavy and unattached to the rest of her numb body. The kitchen was silent.

Everyone was staring at their plates, quite determinedly. Sarah paused at the kitchen door and faltered, Daisy's eyes were darting all around the room, looking anywhere but O'Brien. Something was horribly wrong; John's seat was empty as was Carson's. Mrs Hughes stood as Sarah entered warily.

"Take a seat" The Scottish condescending tone irked Sarah and she stepped back, guards up.

"Where's Mr Lang?" Her voice cane out strained and shrill, completely different from her normal gruff voice.

"He's talking with Mr Carson"

"What about?"

"Take a seat, O'Brien" Mrs Hughes voice had a dangerous hint to it but Sarah was not to be rebuffed.

O'Brien raised her head to look Hughes full in the face and her eyes flashed with anger.

"Where. is. he?" Every word was harsh, spit out of her angry heart.

"He's gone" Daisy's voice piped up through the tense silence.

Within a millisecond Sarah was out of the door and running down the drive way. It was like a gun had gone off in her head and she had too keep running from it, in her mind the only person who could save her was him. Her breath caught painfully in her throat as she was unused to running and her long skirts tripped her.

She could see a figure in the distance.

Sarah tired to call out to him but found she had no voice and with even step felt her energy drain away.

As if it were a miracle the figure turned and she caught up with him, breathless. His face was solemn and set. He carried the smallest suitcase she had even seen. It physically pained her to see all of his life tucked away in something so tiny. Around them the sky darkened and heavy clouds threatened the morning blue. Sarah struggled for breath, watching as Lang struggled with his own mouth, also apparently lost for words.

They stood looking at each other for a long time.

Eventually the heavens opened and the rain began to fall around them.

The water immediately soaked her to the skin but Sarah kept a firm gaze on Mr Lang, almost convinced that if she were to look away he would vanish. Pathetically she held her hand out to him; her skin was pale cream against the dark, rain sodden cotton of her maid's gown. The bruises had turned from a shocking black to a yellow tinge, a flicker of anger passed over his face but she could see him fighting it. Sarah gulped and felt the lump stick painfully in her throat.

Her finger slowly brushed the front of his wet jacket. The material was rough and old but she could already see it had been painstakingly mended many times over; she let her fingers trail up his chest. Her eyes remained downcast as she could no longer bear to look him in the face. Abruptly he caught her cold fingers in a rough grasp. She looked up and found his gaze dark and filled with anguish.

"Go back to the house"

"No" It annoyed Sarah that he was trying to push her away. Why would he do that? She may have shown him that she could be vulnerable and, damn it, weak but she was strong, she was so strong.

She stood closer to him as if to prove an unspoken point.

She was not afraid of him.

His grip on her fingers tightened painfully but still she stared him down. Their eyes were locked and as he squeezed her fingers he accidentally pulled her closer to him. Sarah's eyes watered, though whether it was the pain or the rain she was unsure. The hand that held her trembled and faltered and Sarah bent forwards and kissed his tight knuckles.

With an angry roar he let her go and moved away, gathering speed as he walked.

"Is that it? Yer just goin' ter run away?"

Her voice was cold and her heart swelled with too much conflicting emotion. He turned and was back with her in an instant, dropping his leather suitcase carelessly on to the wet pathway. Bodily her took her shoulders and shook her, his grip tight and his nails digging through the fabric of her gown.

"Do I scare you? DO I?" His voice yelled above the rain and was carried off in the wind.

Sarah was lost of a moment but then simply buried her head in to his chest and threw her arms around him. If words didn't work between them then being close did. His arms slacked on her shoulders and she felt his lips on her forehead and his arms holding her back, pressing her too him.

"Of course yer scare me"

The rain fell around then and the earth stood still.

He kissed his way down to her lips slowly, lingering on her cheeks, until at last they met with a soft rush of love, of comfort.

"I…can't…I can't hurt you"

His voice was broken and hoarse.

"Then don't" Sarah mumbled into his jacket collar, where she had nuzzled her head when they broke apart.

"I can't stay here"

For a moment Sarah paused and felt Lang draw soothing lines on her back. She arched into him and felt him almost groan in reply. Slowly she brought her hand up to his rough face and cupped his cheek, he lent into her touch and she curiously pulled him down to kiss her again. He obeyed willingly.

Could life actually be like this?

"Take me with yer"

"Where?" His voice was quiet and careful.

"Where ever you go"


	10. Happy Endings

Sarah stood in her tiny bedroom in shock.

What was she doing?

A half packed suitcase lay on her bed, messy and confused, like her mind. In her arms she held the patchwork throw all those years ago. It smelt, nice and comforting, she buried her head into it and sighed, breathing in the dusty scent. The material was soft underneath her fingers and she trailed the lines were the different fabrics met, letting the bumpy stitches rub against her tired fingers.

Footsteps outside caught her attention and she turned around to see Mrs Hughes standing in the doorway, a look if blatant confusion plastered across her normally composed face.

"Where do you think your going?" The Scottish tone was questioning and barked with authority but Hughes expression was soft and bewildered.

"I…I don't know" Sarah felt her brow furrow in uncertainty. Her heart seemed to be tearing in two.

Leave Downton? Leave her ladyship, too whom she owed her own soul?

or

Lose Mr Lang? And her heart?

Oh, bleeding hell! She had no heart! Sarah struggled to keep her face calm but she could feel it contorting with anger. Her grip on the patchwork cover tightened and she could feel herself pulling it, stretching the seams, as her life was ripping for underneath her. She felt a hand on hers and was surprised when Mrs Hughes gently took the fabrics from her and patted her hands gently.

Sarah practically tripped over her own feet in shock when Mrs Hughes calmly sat herself down on her bed and began to repack Sarah's things neatly and slowly.

"How did you get the bruises?" Mrs Hughes didn't look up as she worked but her eyebrow raised a fraction. Sarah gripped the wardrobe for support and tried to concentrate on her breathing.

"Was is Mr Lang?"

"Yes"

Mrs Hughes looked up in surprise at O'Brien steady accepting tone. Something had changed, so drastically. The woman looked different. If she didn't know better, Elsie Hughes would have said it was fear, fear at the loss of a loved one. She had seen that look so many times before. But never on O'Brien. Sarah traced the smooth wood of the wardrobe behind her with trembling hands. Why was she so God damn nervous of the housekeeper? Normally she would have just put her in her place with a snide comment or a smirk but now…now she felt as if she were loosing someone else to; a hated aunt that always gave you sticky sweet at Christmas.

The suitcase snapped closed with a soft noise that seemed to stir the tension in the room.

Mrs Hughes got up briskly and made to exit the room. But not before she layed a firm hand on O'Brien's arm and said in almost a whisper;

"Don't forget us"

Her footsteps echoed down the long corridor and Sarah felt as if drums were pounding her ears. Slowly a few tears managed to escape her furiously blinking eyelids and trailed pathetically down her cheeks, she brushed them away with the back of her white shirt.

"I can never forget"

The room reverberated the words maliciously back at her.

Surprised at the colour of her shirt sleeve she looked down at herself and wondered how she would ever get used to not wearing the dull black maids gown every day. Her own clothes, the few she owned, were simple and plain. Today she would leave Downton in a grey skirt and jacket trimmed with cheap black velvet braid and a crisp white shirt. No jewellery, she didn't own any.

No goodbyes, she walked out of Downton alone.

She couldn't bear to face Lady Grantham.

At the wrought iron gates she pause, from this distance Downton Abbey looked huge, impossibly vast. She had lived her for so long but…she had not really lived at all, she had taken on another life, a half live in the shadows.

Her feet blindly lead her to the train station. The heels of her rough, black boot making clicking noises against the gravel. It was a steady rhythm, one which she tried to set her heart to.

The platform was quiet.

Smoke billowed from the recently departed train and Sarah made her way along the dais warily. Where was he?

As if in a twist of fate the steam cleared with a smooth gust of wind and there he stood. Mr Lang, uncertain and lost, at the edge of the platform. Slowly she walked over to him and slipped her hand into his. He briefly looked at her and his lips curled into a smile. She smiled back, loving the familiar feel of his skin against hers.

They stood together, yet alone on the platform as if they were the only two people that mattered in the world.

The piercing whistle blew to signal the oncoming train.

It came into the station in a rush towards them, mirroring the way Sarah felt the speed at which her life so suddenly seemed to be travelling.

They boarded the train together silently. His hand never left hers.

"Where are we goin'?" Sarah voice was low with question but without uncertainty. This was where she wanted to be; at his side.

They sat close to each other in the small train compartment, hands clasped, linked. More than love, a deep understanding.

"I don't know"

"It doesn't matter anyway"

Sarah laid her head on his shoulder and felt the train pull away from the station. The whistle blew again but she ignored it. His lips pressed lightly against the top of her head and she turned up into his kiss.

The world raced by as the train gathered speed.

Sarah didn't care.

All that mattered was his arms so firmly around her waist and his lips against hers.

A new life.

A fresh start.

End.

Authors Note: Sorry, it looks like this chapter will be the last of this particular story but if you want more I may be writing a sequel! "A not-so-innocent friendship"! Will probs be about their lives after this story ends and will be a rating of M as it will most likely have naughtiness! Shhhh!  
>Also if you want more O'Brien angst and love check out my other epic story "Forgiveness"! Love to you all and thank you for your continuing support and loyalty and lovely reviews! Xxx<p> 


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